


Grey

by rudbeckia



Series: Geraskier fics [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ageing, Aging, Bathing/Washing, Implied/Referenced Sex, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: The White Wolf, being teased by his bard about his age, retaliates by showing Jaskier evidence that he is also getting older. Geralt does not expect the devastating effect that will have on Jaskier’s mood.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699972
Comments: 4
Kudos: 93





	Grey

Geralt lay back in the bath, sighed and rolled his eyes while Jaskier fussed. He liked it when Jaskier fussed over him, but it didn’t do to let the bard know this. Jaskier’s topic to bait and berate Geralt about was the one personal thing he was the least worried about.

“I know you look the same as you did when we first met, but you must age somehow. Everybody does. I mean it, Geralt,” Jaskier said. “One of these days you’ll go from White Wolf to Silver Fox with a dodgy knee that plays up if there’s rain coming, and then it’s a short stagger to infirmity. Have you ever met an elderly witcher? No.” Jaskier tutted and shook his head. “Thought not.”

“Are you saying I should retire?” Geralt asked, lips quirking into a smile. “Take up... hobbies?”  
“Knowing you, you’d call hunting kikimore a gentle pastime and decapitating werewolves a mere diversion. No, Geralt. I do not want you to retire. You’d hate it.”  
“Then what?” Geralt asked. He watched Jaskier potter around the bath house, folding his clothes and shaking out the towels.  
“Just,” Jaskier stopped and shrugged at Geralt. “Just take it easy. Easier. For a few days. Get some proper rest, regular meals, decent ale and blessed sleep in a comfortable bed.”

“Ah.” Geralt submerged his head then sat up trailing water from the ends of his long, loose silver hair. “You mean you want me to stick around here for a few days. Whose husband is after you this time, Jaskier?”

To his credit, Jaskier did not take the bait. “No one’s. I’ll have you know that being the Butcher of Blaviken’s personal bard rather puts a dampener on that side of my entertainment services. There’s only the countess and that’s so on-again-off-again we may as well be married.”  
Geralt threw back his head and laughed. Jaskier smiled to see him amused even at his expense. Geralt beckoned him closer. “Get in.”

Jaskier grinned and stepped into the bath where Geralt made space for him. There was a fire for warmth but some early evening spring sunlight slanted through the window, bathing Jaskier’s skin with pale gold. Geralt shifted a little further so that Jaskier had room to kneel then sit with his back resting against Geralt’s broad chest.

“Have you considered that maybe I like having you around?” Jaskier asked. “And that you don’t need an excuse to stay for a few days?”  
“You could have said that,” Geralt replied, “instead of making personal comments about my age and implying that I am one doddering stumble away from my dotage. Anyway. It’s not me who has to concern himself with getting old.”

Jaskier’s back stiffened then he twisted slowly to glare at Geralt. “And what is that supposed to mean?”  
“Do I look older to you?” Geralt said. “More white hair than when we met?”  
Jaskier frowned and examined Geralt’s mane for a minute. “No I suppose not. OWW!”

Geralt held up one single hair between them where it glinted silver in the sunlight and golden in the firelight. Jaskier’s face cycled through pain, annoyance, confusion and disbelief before finally settling on horror. “That’s not mine. Geralt, tell me that’s not mine. My hair is the same rich, lustrous, youthful, dark brown it has always been. OWWW!”

Geralt presented Jaskier with another strand of fine, spun-silver hair.

The Witcher—hoping to end up wrestling a bathful of indignant, soap-slippery bard before holding him still, cradling him and telling him he was ridiculous—was fully unprepared for the depth of Jaskier’s woe.

Jaskier’s eyes went wide. “No,” he said, shaking his head.  
Jaskier sat forward hugging his knees. “I can’t. No.”  
“Jaskier—”  
“You don’t understand how it is for a bard, Geralt.”  
“Jask—”  
“My youthful good looks open a lot of doors, Geralt.”  
“Ja—”  
“If I lose my youth, I’ll have to... to be a...” Jaskier wailed, “...a _character bard_!”

Hope beamed through the despair on Jaskier’s face as an idea struck. He leaned over the edge of the bathtub, slopping water onto the floor, and snatched the polished bronze shaving mirror from the side table.

“No,” he said again, this time studying the sides and top of his hair in the metal surface. “You’re lying. Cruel, Geralt. And cruelty doesn’t suit you at all.” Jaskier pointed at his own head. “See? No greys. Deep rich brown with a hint of chestnut. Ooh, is that a ginger one?”

  
“Jaskier,” Geralt said gently, removing the mirror from his hands and holding it so that Jaskier could see his long white hair reflected in shades of burnished bronze. He could chart the progress of Jaskier’s understanding by his expression, right up to the point where the bard covered his face with his hands and burst into tears. “How will I court the countess now?” Jaskier asked through sobs. “My livelihood depends on her patronage and it’s very hard to play the charming young romancer with obvious signs of the passage of time declaring my true age!”

“Jaskier, come here,” Geralt said, pulling the distraught bard into his arms and rocking him gently. “You look fine. Nobody will notice. I didn’t until you made a thing of it.”  
“That’s not the point, Geralt,” Jaskier said quietly after he was done crying. “A few greys today isn’t a big deal. I can pull them out or change my hairstyle to hide them, or only ever appear in dimly lit rooms.” Jaskier sighed deeply. “But what about in five years’ time? Ten years? I’m looking at the end of my career, Geralt, and I am terrified.”

Geralt held Jaskier tightly and kissed the top of his head. “I think you’re ov—”  
“Geralt, I swear if you say ‘overreacting’ I will drown you in this bathwater and you’ve been in it for almost an hour so it would be a disgusting way to die.”  
“Jaskier, you’ve not reached the end of your career.”  
“Not yet, but I can see it from here.”

“I will say this once and once only.” Geralt took a deep breath and prepared himself to reveal a deep, dark secret. “I think you are a good bard. I like your songs. People like you because of that, not because of your looks.”  
Jaskier raised his head to stare at Geralt. “Have you inhaled the breath of a basilisk?”  
“I mean it.” Geralt smiled. “But I won’t repeat it.”  
“Thank you,” Jaskier murmured as he settled his head back onto Geralt’s chest. “All the same...”  
“You want me to pluck them out for you?”  
“Yes please.” Jaskier sat up. “Your enhanced eyesight is really handy sometimes.”  
Geralt smiled and shook his head. “Hold still, then.”

Geralt weeded six of Jaskier’s sparse greys then declared he was done and set to the relaxing task of washing Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier closed his eyes and focused on the touch of Geralt’s fingers, gentle despite the calluses, and let the sound of splashing water turn into a melody in his head. By the time Geralt had finished his task, Jaskier wore a soft smile.

“I could use henna,” Jaskier said. “Like the countess does.”  
“Really?” Geralt said with a little laugh, then cursed silently at himself, bit his lip and waited for a storm. But Jaskier merely scooped up a handful of water and flicked it in his face.  
“Yes,” he said. “If my darling lady patroness can disguise her age for fear of losing her charm, so can I.”

They relaxed in the just-warm-enough water for a minute more. Geralt tried to imagine what Jaskier might be feeling and failed, but wanted to say the right thing anyway. “If you are set on delaying the signs of ageing,” he said, “you could ask Yennefer—”

“No. Oh nonono.” Jaskier stood up, reached for a towel and got out of the bath. Geralt followed. “Although you seem completely taken by Yennefer’s enchanting personality and devastating beauty, I am wary of her... her... devastating enchantments. I am sure if I begged her she would restore my youthful appearance just to shut me up, but probably demand the Little Bard’s upstanding nature as payment, thus defeating the purpose.”  
Geralt cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t trust Yen?”  
“And you do?”

Geralt smiled. “I would not want you lo lose your... do I have to say it?” Jaskier nodded. Geralt rolled his eyes. “Little bard’s performance.”  
Jaskier whooped with delight. “So what would the ‘Little Witcher’ like to do tonight?”   
In response, Geralt cupped Jaskier’s face and kissed him. “How old are you anyway?” Geralt murmured.  
“A gentleman never asks,” Jaskier replied.  
“I have never been accused of being a gentleman,” Geralt said, pulling Jaskier closer and kissing him again. “Tell me.”

“Mmm. How old do I look?” Jaskier said. “Be aware that an insensitive answer may cause cock-shrivelling offence.”  
“Hmm,” Geralt said, giving it some thought. “I have known you for more than twenty years and you were already a reasonably accomplished bard when we met. So you are at least forty but less than fifty.”  
“You’re treading on very shaky ground, Geralt,” Jaskier warned.  
“You look not a day over thirty fi—”  
“Think carefully about where you want to spend the night, Geralt. Does Roach like to share a stall?”  
Geralt grinned. “As I was saying, not a day over thirty.”  
Jaskier huffed out a laugh and gave Geralt an approving nod. “I know you’re lying but sometimes brutal honesty is not the best policy.”

Geralt kissed Jaskier again, running his hands down Jaskier’s back to his hips. “You like flattery, don’t you?”  
“Doesn’t everyone?” Jaskier asked. “You’re not immune. You like it when I wax lyrical about your bravery and your strength and your skill with your sword.”  
“Hmm. Hah,” Geralt said. “My skill with my sword is between you, me and Yennefer.”  
“You know,” Jaskier replied, “that wasn’t even innuendo.”

Geralt hid his smile by kissing Jaskier below the ear. He trailed more kisses along Jaskier’s throat, over his collarbones then down his sternum, pausing only to get comfortable on his knees. He looked up at Jaskier.  
“What happens next in that song you’re composing in your head right now?”  
Jaskier gazed down at Geralt. “Something about tooting my flute or paying lip service to the little bard’s— Ooooohhhh!”

It was a supreme act of restraint on Geralt’s part that he completely failed to mention to Jaskier afterwards that grey hair can appear anywhere. Some things, he decided, are best discovered for oneself.


End file.
